


Comes the Storm

by mokuyoubi



Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, The Academy Is...
Genre: Challenge Response, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-05 13:35:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>no-tags Pairing/Prompt: William/Gabe Danger Days au<br/>Every legend has a beginning, most of them rather mundane.  William works for BL/Ind, but he dreams in colours of the way the world used to be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Comes the Storm

There's a fly buzzing around, making a dull _ding_ sound as it hits the windowpane in a vein effort to escape. William has to pause what he's doing every time, fighting back the urge to smash it. Last Tuesday, Connie said there was a guy in the main building who killed a fly and they fired him on the spot. Now there were rumours that he was going to be brought up on charges of treason. Before, everyone was joking about the Fact News broadcast, but now there is a palpable fear in the air, particularly whenever a fly happens by.

Growing up, William read enough that he's fairly certain this whole fly nonsense is just another way of ensuring complacency in the populace. He's not going to go testing his theory by killing any of them, but it helps lessen the anxiety whenever he sees one in his private quarters. It doesn't help with the general anxiety he feels over being moved from the main research facility in the heart of Battery City to one of the test sites at the edge of Zone One. 

William is used to comfortable, if boring, routine. Going to work at the tower with his fellow scientists, eating his lunch in the tower courtyard, and walking two blocks to his apartment at dusk every night, enjoying the temperate weather, falling asleep with a book from the approved list in hand. H e only ever occasionally caught sight of BLI security, and every time he felt a shiver down his spine and walked a little faster as he went by. 

Out here, the building is swimming with security, the scientists outnumbered three to one, and those vacant masks watch William everywhere he goes. At least twice a day the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W come by, always with a couple Dracs in tow, and William makes sure to keep his head down until they're gone. In the tower it was just assumed everyone was taking their medication, but here they're given their pills are administered twice a day, just after breakfast and dinner. Tom taught William how to hide them under the side of his tongue ages ago, but his heart pounds faster every time he does it, sure this time he'll be caught. 

It's too dangerous to venture outside this close to the Zones, and with the soaring heat and chemical rain who would want to, so their rooms are kept in the basement. William has certainly never been an outdoorsy sort of person, but after three weeks solid cooped up inside, he's itching to breath real air. He's asked how long they're meant to stay here, but he's never been given more than a vague "as long as it takes to perfect the compound." William doesn't even know what compound he's working on--all the scientists chosen have been assigned different tasks and strictly forbidden from discussing them with each other--but he's pretty sure there are other, better scientists for the job. When he said as much, back when he'd first received the assignment, Taneko-san had simply smiled placidly when he told William, "We must all happily persevere," which didn't really address the issue at all, but William was mostly used to that.

*

The S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W agent came by just before lunch, and things in the office have been quiet ever since. William's heard rumours--they all have--about the bands of nomads living in the Zones, making music and running raids. Maybe William has even fantasised about being one of them--growing his hair out long, wearing tight jeans, singing his poetry at the top of his lungs instead of keeping it hidden in the bottom of his dresser drawer. 

But it really is just a fantasy. There's no way people could have any sort of meaningful existence out in the harsh conditions of the Zones, and there's no way some rag-tag group of people could make a stand against the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W. He's never actually entertained the possibility of escaping to them because he's never actually entertained the possibility that they exist, outside the imagination of the discontent until now.

Today there were no Dracs with the agent, and William overheard him talking to one of the BLI security guys about an explosion in Zone Four and the destruction of several feeds, all in response to _that shit those Killjoys broadcast last night_. William knows he's not the only one who heard it, can tell that the others are frightened. He supposes that he should be, too, but all he feels is a low thrum of excitement and anticipation, making it difficult to do his job or think about anything other than finding out more about that broadcast.

*

For two days, there were no visits from the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W, and the BLI security forces grew twitchy. William's mind raced with the possibilities, but this...this was never one of them.

He's got his hands up, but it's really more out of incredulity than fear that he's responded. The leader of the gang is tall and darkly tanned, his tank-top is an atrocious blend of neon green, teal and pink leopard print, and if his introduction is to be believed, he's rather aptly named _Acid Trip_. His gang is a pretty eclectic group too--another tall man dressed in a nicely tailored suit that he has kept, despite having just come in from the desert, spotless white; a curvy woman in an impossibly short black mini-dress with bright yellow arm warmers and checkered tights; the short guy in the pastel purple and blue track suit and sweat band; and the last guy who looks like he wouldn't last five minutes in the desert in his black skinny jeans, fitted zip-up jacket, flannel scarf wrapped artfully around his neck. They all have on some seriously ridiculous sunglasses that look more about fashion than protecting the eyes from the sun.

They all also have rayguns out, held casually at their sides, now that the BLI security are out cold. Acid Trip is closest to William, and he can't help but notice his raygun is painted in blue zebra print. "If you all just take it easy and do what we say, nobody needs to get hurt," Acid Trip is saying. His sunglasses are low on his nose and he keeps glancing at William over the rim. It's inexplicable, the way that small gesture makes William's heart race, and not in an unpleasant way. "Now which one of you would be the head scientist?" 

William glances at the others and isn't really surprised at what he sees. Connie's backed herself into a corner, head down, Jeff's crouched half under his desk with his eyes closed, and Marcus is shaking, muttering what is no doubt a prayer under his breath; William suppresses the urge to sigh. "None of us is in charge," he says, then he lowers his arms because they're sort of getting tired.

"And what's your name, pretty?" Acid Trip asks, takes a step closer. William isn't quite sure how to respond to that, and stutters out his full name, feeling his cheeks catch fire. Acid Trip makes a humming noise and William fights the urge to jump when the tip of the raygun nudges his wrist. "What do you do, then, William?"

William shakes his head. "We d-don't--they don't tell us what it is we're w-working on."

The woman says something in a soft voice to flannel scarf guy, and all William can really hear is something about _mindless sheep_. He bristles at that, but even through his anger he knows there's nothing he can say to counter it. He is here, after all, doing exactly what BL/Ind has told him to do, and any questions he's asked have, in the end, been token and pointless. He swallows hard against snapping out an indignant response, but Acid Trip's eyes dart over his face, like he's read every thought running through William's head.

"We're just taking everything," the tall one in white says. "Doctor D'll have someone to sort it all out."

Acid Trip nods absently, and the rest of his gang goes into action. They gather a bunch of documents to take with them and shred several others, upload a bunch of files onto their portable drive before destroying the mainframe, take all the test batches from the cooler. It's all very efficient, probably only takes a few minutes though it feels like ages, Acid Trip unmoving at William's side the entire time.

"Sure there's nothing else you wanna tell us?" he asks, as his gang are finishing up.

The thing is, if William knew anything he probably _would_ tell this guy. Not because he's afraid or cowardly, but because he wants to. It's probably a good thing that he doesn't know, then. BL/Ind doesn't look kindly on any form of rebellion. So William meets Acid Trip's gaze, unflinching, and doesn't say a thing. It's sudden and shocking, the way Acid Trip crowds against him then, pressing him back against the edge of his desk. They're of a height, but William feels small and trapped, finds he doesn't mind the sensation at all. 

Acid Trip leans in, lips just brushing William's ear as he whispers, "Get your fangs up, kid."

William has no fucking idea what that means, but ten minutes after they're gone he's still hard, and he can't stop shaking.

*

It isn't until he's undressing to shower that night that he finds the small, rectangular card in the pocket of his lab coat. There's an address written across it in plain, blank print, and nothing else.

*

There aren't any radios in Battery City. As soon as he's back at his own apartment, BL/Ind having temporarily put his project on hold, William searches high and low throughout the city, down every side street, in every junk shop, but there are no radios to be found. Every home does have a television though, and every television has the same amount of channels, all featuring BL/Ind approved shows, and the BL/Ind channel supercedes all others, cutting into whatever is currently broadcasting with Fact News updates and personal messages from the government. William's is never on except when it flickers on by itself, telling him all the reasons he should be afraid of what's outside the city, and all the reasons he has to be grateful for the protection BL/Ind grants him.

Every time he goes out, the address on the card springs to mind and he's tempted, so very fucking tempted, to throw caution to the wind and hunt it down. It's in an area of town with which William isn't exactly familiar--closer to the BLI tower than he would have thought, but in the opposite direction of his apartment. If someone were watching him, there'd be no good way to explain why he was going there.

But it's a Friday night and everything he's writing just leaves him feeling more trapped and more depressed, and he can't stop the nostalgic longing for a world he only vaguely remembers, all fuzzy-bright colours that meant _freedom_ , and the news is telling him about zombie buffalo in the west and the new line of BL/Ind medications that will make it so he can't remember his pesky dreams, and he can't sit here and listen to it anymore.

*

When he follows the directions to the address, the destination is an old florist's shop, sad, wilting blossoms in the front window display. An image of his mother's kitchen window box comes to mind, pansies in a myriad of colour. He remembers thinking they were kind of an ugly flower, as a child, but now he feels a pang in his heart, wishing to see them again.

The shop is closed, which shouldn't be a surprise given the late hour, but William is disappointed nonetheless. He paces up and down the length of the block a few times, restless and not ready to return home, and he startles when the door opens a crack on his fourth pass. "Are you _trying_ to draw attention to us?" a voice demands.

"S-sorry," William says, and hurries closer. The man in the shadows doesn't look impressed and his dead eyes make William feel distinctly out of place.

"What's your pass code?" 

William looks at the man blankly for a moment. He fumbles around in his pocket and pulls out the card. "Acid Trip gave me this, he said--"

"Fucking idiot," the guy mumbles under his breath, and William flinches. "Not you," he adds. "Okay, and did he give you a pass code?"

It's been a couple weeks, and William has to think hard. It's foolish, the things he remembers about Acid Trip most clearly--calling William _pretty_ , the way he looked at William so intensely. There's a flicker of something else. "Get my fangs up?" he mutters, and the guy nods and opens the door wider. William didn't expect that to work, but he'll take it.

The staircase to the downstairs is concealed in the brick corridor to the back of the store, the entrance blending in to the rest of the wall until the doorman does something with one of the stones. William didn't know what to expect, but this--this is so much wilder and louder and better than anything he could have imagined. There's a band playing on the stage, screaming more than singing and the kids in the room are writhing to the beat, faces studded with piercings, hair dyed bright blues and reds and greens. A bar on the back is distributing real alcohol, and though he's too much of a coward to go get some, he stays near by, watching from afar.

That first night passes in a blur. William doesn't remember any of the names of the bands, and he couldn't repeat a single lyric, but he knows what they're singing about--freedom, and going out fighting, and living a life that means something, if only to one other person in the whole world. He remembers the way his nails glow blue under the light, and the scent of sweat and perfume and beer.

When he finally stumbles out at close to four in the morning, William's stopped by the doorman, who says his name is Mike, and who tells William there's another show on Tuesday. William's still riding the high of sneaking out, seeing the show, all of it, he can't sleep when he gets home. 

There are message boards. He heard some of the wave-heads at the show talking about them, and it only takes him about three hours to find them. It'll take a lot longer before he'll be comfortable posting, 'til he's certain there's no way BL/Ind will be able to trace it back to him. He spends all of Saturday reading the recent messages of people named Party Poison and Dr. Death-Defying and Tommy Chow Mein and dozens of others. When he finally sleeps, his dreams are of the Zones.

*

_The Professor says: Hold your head high heavy heart so take a chance and make it big 'cause it’s the last you’ll ever get. If we don’t take it, when will we make it?_ *

Acid Trip finally shows up the fifth time William goes. The club's location changes from week to week and sometimes day to day, and this time it's in a half-destroyed subway station. By then, William's gathered enough courage to talk to some of the wave-heads, and as soon as he mentioned Acid Trip's name, they were all eager to tell of his legend. Stories about being bitten by a cobra in the desert and being abducted by aliens that made William roll his eyes, because this was the man who'd managed to get to him so easily.

When William sees him in the club, he feels like a moth drawn to a flame. The band is already on the stage and for the first time William presses through the crowd to be closer. Acid Trip's voice smoulders down William's spine, low and rough as he sings, _We're going to bury this town tonight, we're gonna dance all night_. William has never been the sort to express himself physically when his words do such a better job of it, but he can't help dancing to this music, feels it thrumming in the muscles of his thighs, up his calves. Acid Trip catches his eye and there's something like surprise, like maybe he hadn't expected William to show up, but it melts away into a devious grin.

"William," he purrs, when the Mad Gear has taken the stage. "Bill." William makes a face, and that just makes Acid Trip smile wider. FTWWW is pumping through the speakers and the bass is pulsing through the floor and walls. William can feel it in his teeth. "Glad you showed."

William arches a brow and quirks his lips to the side. He's been practicing the look in front of a mirror. His mother used to tell him how expressive his face was, but he hasn't thought about it in years. It hasn't mattered, first because of the medicine, and then, after he'd stopped taking it...well...when everyone else around you was emotionless, what was the point of having emotion for yourself? 

Recently, though, he's been thinking a lot about the curve of lips and the arch of his brow, and all the worlds of meaning in the way they can be twisted, stretched, and curled. It has the desired effect, anyway. Acid Trip's gaze flicks down to William's mouth and holds there. "Weren't you worried I'd give that card to S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W?"

Acid Trip shrugs easily, but there's a hardness in his eyes that makes William wonder who sold him out before. William wants to know _everything_ about him. "I had a feeling about you."

William's painfully hard, just from talking to him, and he wants to arch up, closer. The hallway is narrow and people keep passing by and it would be so easy to close the distance between them. His chest burns with the possibility. Acid Trip jerks his head towards the backstage area and says, "Come and meet the rest of the band," and just like that the moment has passed. His hand closes around William's wrist, though, and it's enough to be going on.

*

_The Professor says: Somewhere hiding underneath, runnin' around these empty streets, do you think you're better off dead than alive in here?_

*

Acid Trip turns down William's offer to help three times before Dr. Death-Defying sends a private message to The Professor. His contact is a Japanese girl who works at a drug dispensary near the BLI tower. The go out for lunch twice a week, and William's coworkers thing he has a girlfriend.

The jobs are fairly simple, but they're still tremendously nerve-wracking. The first time, Kana takes his hand at the end of their lunch and he palms the tiny device she's pressed against his skin. He doesn't dare looking at it until he's home. It's a device he doesn't really understand--his aptitude tests put him in the medical science field, and there's little crossover with the technological science field. All he knows is that it will clip on a cord of a computer on his floor, and Dr. Death-Defying will be able to access what they need from there.

It goes off without a hitch. William puts it on an unoccupied computer, which Kana assured him was fine, unwilling to have it traced back to himself or a co-worker. For days afterward he waits for a S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W agent to show up at his door, but then a week passes, and another, and the anxiety starts to subside.

Gabe's eyes are angry the next time he plays and after he grabs William roughly by the arm and tells him, "You have no idea what you're getting into, _cariño_."

William's skin is bruised for days, four neat little bands that fade from purple to green, and he can't stop pressing his fingers to them.

*

_The Professor says: I refuse to be a casualty of this indifference_

*

Mike asks William if he's seen The Professor's lyrics and there's no reason for William to be anything other than honest. He brings a notebook full of his songs to the club and a week later Mike invites him to his apartment. They manage to gather together something resembling a band thanks to Mike's knowledge of the other club-goers. Practice is pretty much a joke. They wouldn't dare doing it in any of their homes, so the only option is one of the clubs, and going there during the day is just asking to be caught. Mostly they catch an hour here and there before and after other shows, and when Mike tells William he's got them booked for the last Thursday of the month, only six weeks after they started throwing together lyrics and melodies haphazardly, William can't think anything past _not ready not ready not ready._

It isn't that he lacks confidence in his words, but his stutter makes regular conversation awkward, let alone singing in front of a crowd. Mike told Guy Ripley, who told the rest of the Cobra Crew, and that makes everything so much worse, knowing Acid Trip will be out there, watching him. 

Somehow, and William isn't asking, Butcher knows William's size and shows up at the club with a variety of clothes for him to choose from. All the musicians that play have such distinctive styles--Panic!'s flowery retro thing and the Outcast Kid's steampunk/clockwork heart thing, plus William's finally seen pictures of the Killjoys now. He couldn't help but stare at Party Poison's hair, tried to imitate the _fuck you_ stare of Fun Ghoul's, but William has no style of his own. 

In the end Sisky gets annoyed and picks for him. The jeans are skin-tight with brass buttons from the knee to the ankle and the v-neck shirt is black and covered in random patches of sequins to sparkle in the stage light. As an afterthought, William grabs a gauzy orange scarf and ties it just above his knee, only because he _wants_ to. His hair's grown longer than is strictly allowed, just brushing his shoulders and it tumbles down in messy waves. He steals some makeup left behind by Massive/Awesome's singer--just a hint of colour in his cheeks and on his lips--but he looks more alive when he catches his reflection in the mirror.

The lights are bright and he's sweating almost the second he steps on stage. The mic's right there, and for a second, all he sees is disaster. Then something else, hidden deep down inside takes over and his voice comes out, not even shaking a little. "We're The Academy, I'm your Professor, and here's the lesson. Listen up."

They play _Sleeping with Giants_ , and _Sputter_ , and _Down and Out_ , and when the audience screams for more, it's a rush like nothing William's ever known. He catches sight of Acid Trip near the side of the stage, watching him with hot eyes, and for an encore he decides on _In the Rearview_ , never letting his gaze slip from Acid Trip's.

*

They haven't even kissed before Acid Trip's on his knees, tearing at the buttons on William's jeans. William's panting and can't get enough air. He braces his hands on the shelf behind him and tilts his hips forward and Acid Trip pauses, presses his lips to the thin strip of belly exposed between shirt and jeans. "You're so _pale_ ," Acid Trip says wonderingly.

William reaches out, lacing a hand in Acid Trip's short, wild curls and says, "What's your name?" All the big ones are good at keeping that much secret, but William aches to say his real name.

There's no reason William should expect an honest answer. This might be a regular thing for Acid Trip, dragging club boys into utility closets. He still holds his breath as he waits.

Acid Trip looks up at him, lips still pressed to skin, and says, "Gabe. Gabriel. It's Gabe."

"Gabe," William sighs, and Gabe finally gets the button undone and the zipper down. They're so low William didn't bother with underwear which makes it that much easier for Gabe to get him out.

"I've been thinking about this since I first laid eyes on you," Gabe says, and William chuckles unsteadily and says, "So have I."

Gabe wraps a hand around the base of William's cock and goes down on him, no warning, no preamble. It's been years since someone's touched him and Gabe is _really_ good, doing this thing with his tongue that makes William's knees go weak. That's all the more of an excuse that William has for coming so quickly, hand fisted in Gabe's hair, hips arching forward.

William's boneless, head spinning, and before he can even think of reciprocating Gabe's on his feet again, crowding close. He's jerking himself off and William feels the wet smear of precome and the brush of Gabe's knuckles on his skin with every stroke. He tilts his head back and Gabe takes it for the invitation it is, sealing their lips together. Gabe's kiss is rough and a little desperate, and it makes the hair at the back of William's neck stand on end. He reaches out, fumbling, fingers just grazing the tip of Gabe's cock, and Gabe lets out a moan against his mouth and comes.

The kiss softens and slows, and when Gabe pulls back just a little, William goes for his neck instead. His skin tastes like dust and sweat, fresh from the Zones, and William imagines what Gabe must be like, out there. What he must do to survive. He's never wanted so badly to see the Zones for himself, but Dr. Death-Defying needs him here, so this is where he'll stay.

Gabe makes a soft sound of pleasure as William traces shapes against his pulse with his tongue. "You know, if you were just doing all of this to get my attention, you really didn't have to bother. I already liked what I saw."

William straightens up, indignation shaking him from post-coital languor. "That is _not_ why I'm doing this," he snaps, stomach roiling, ready for a fight, even if he doesn't have the words prepared for one.

But Gabe just chuckles, finger drawing a gentle line down the inside of William's arm from shoulder to elbow, and his smile is easy when he says, "Relax, papi, I'm just teasing you."

William's still tense, on the edge of snapping, but Gabe puts a hand at the back of his neck and leads him into another kiss, putting that tension to good use.

*

_The Professor says: I'm missing you to death, but it's all for the best, I know. I've got my pride, and I'll let you sleep tonight._

*

Something's off, William's felt it all day, from the moment he stepped into work. It's that feeling of being watched, though whenever he looks there's no one there. He sees more of the BLI security in one day that he has in most of the years he's worked there and it's just making him jittery.

There's a concert in the evening and he wants to go so badly, ask Gabe or anyone to take him away, he can't stand it here anymore, feeling as though he's always watching his back. He can't risk it, though. If someone is watching him, he won't lead them to the others.

He leaves at the same time he always does, gathering his shoulder bag and heading towards the elevator, only noticing for the first time that his fellow employees are already gone. He swallows back the sudden stifling fear that rises in his throat and pushes the button for the lobby. The doors are almost closed when a black-gloved hand reaches out to stop it.

A security officer and Drac step inside, and Bill imagines the masks are real, smiling cruelly down at him, and he knows then that he's fucked. Following them is a bald man with frail-looking, paper-white skin. "We'd like a few words with you, Professor, if you have a moment," he says.

*

William's situation couldn't be any worse, and he knows it. They're going to kill him, the only question is when. The certainty of it should would give him a sort of calm, if it weren't for the rest. Knowing that they've been onto him from the beginning, feeding him and Dr. Death-Defying only the information they wanted seen. Knowing that right now the Killjoys could be walking into a trap, or Gabe's base could be raided, or maybe they're all dead, already, maybe--

The door to his holding cell opens and a stocky BLI guy comes in, laser rifle in hand. Some scene from a movie in his childhood flashes to mind, and he must be hysterical because he has to stifle a burst of laughter at the thought of asking the guy if he isn't a little short to be a BL industry security guard.

"You ready to get out of here?" the guy asks.

William arches an unimpressed brow. "Is that some sort of euphemism for you killing me?" If he's going out, he's not going to be nice about it.

The guy shifts his weight, and if a blank-eyed smiley face can look annoyed, this one does. "Look, we've got a very small window here, and I'm not going to risk my ass sticking around to convince you. You can come with me or you can stay here, but really, what's the difference being dusted in here or out there?"

Put that way, William doesn't really have an argument. _Planetary (Go)_ is playing in his head as he follows the man out.

*

The guy says his name is Bob. "There are a few of us in Better Living Industries and a some throughout the city--don't trade in information or anything, we're just here in case something like this comes up."

He's not alone, either. Apparently things are crazy in Zone Five and almost everyone's out there. Bob won't be more specific, but William doesn't have a hard time imagining he's the one to blame. The only band anywhere near enough to help is Panic! and they're waiting near the tunnel, ready to pick them up. It's the getting there that's the fun part.

Bob gives William a ray gun as they make their way to the stairwell. It's eerily quiet on this floor. Down the hall lights flicker inside a glass room, with a seal proclaiming it to be the Scarecrow Division. They're halfway to freedom when the first flash of light whizzes past William's head, stirring his hair. Bob shoves him down and to the side and William spins around, not even thinking as he raises his ray gun and fires back.

It's a strange thing to think, when you're probably about to die, but the lobby is beautiful, lit up with bursts of silver-gold light, reflecting off the glass. His memories are hazy at best, but he thinks this must be what fireworks looked like, caught in the mirror of Lake Michigan.

Bob backs them up to the doors and into the courtyard. The air smells like singed flesh and burnt hair. As simple as that he's nine years old again in the rubble of his home, sky ash dark.

"Keep running," Bob shouts, over the din roaring in William's ears, and somehow his feet carry him forward.

There's a dune buggy a few hundred yards out, a man in the driver's seat dressed in brown overalls and wearing goggles. He's grinning at them, and Bob says, "I thought I told you to wait at the tunnel."

The guy waggles his brows and says, "Good thing I didn't listen to you then." He barely waits until William's seated before he guns the thing, and it must be modded, because it's seriously fast. Bob grabs onto the side, firing over the top as they roar down the street.

*

The driver turns out to be the singer of Panic!, Mr. Fancy Sunshine, and the rest of his band are waiting at the tunnel, a pile of Dracs and BLI security at their feet. Bob jerks off his mask and William's startled by the blueness of his eyes--it's a much pleasanter face than he'd expected from the gruff voice. The guitarist--Brown Recluse--gives Bob a wry look. "Guess you'll be coming back with us, then?" 

Mr. Fancy Sunshine gives a brilliant smile at that, and wow, it's even more stunning than in the vids. "The Killjoys'll be glad to have you back." There's something suggestive in his tone, like maybe Bob has something going with one of the Killjoys.

"Can we maybe stand around and discuss this when we don't have Korse and his goonies on our ass," Icy-Hot (later he'll tell William he had _nothing_ to do with his own naming), the drummer demands, hands on his hips. 

"Ready to join the motorbabies?" Mr. Fancy Sunshine asks William, teeth glittering.

*

Apparently Gabe hasn't exactly been quiet about their...relationship? if stolen moments in dirty bathrooms, dressing rooms and closets can be considered a relationship. Regardless, all of Panic! know about it, and that's good enough for them to consider William trustworthy because not twenty minutes after meeting him, they're telling him their names.

"I really love your lyrics," Ryan tells him sincerely. "We've wanted to see The Academy perform for ages, but we couldn't risk coming into the city." 

Their destination is a truly ancient gas station in Zone Four. It's not at all what he's expected. Out here the sky is hazier than within the city, but he can still make out the stars. The sun is just coming up and it's already blazing hot, but not unbearable. He asked warily about the need of re-breathers, but Bob waved off his concern. "Things are clear all the way to Zone Five right now."

The station itself looks abandoned. Boards are nailed over the entrance and the broken out windows. Spencer and Bob brush aside some sand from alongside the parking lot and grab two silver handles that appear. Beneath, a staircase descends into what appears to be an abandoned sewage tunnel. They make a few twists and turns before William hears voices raised in argument, one in particular very familiar. He's running before he realises it, throwing open the metal door at the end of the tunnel.

Gabe and an equally pissed-off Fun Ghoul are toe to toe, being restrained by the bassist of Outcast Kids and Party Poison respectively. "I never wanted him doing this in the first place," Gabe's shouting, but he goes still and silent when he sees William. Fun Ghoul and Party Poison have an expression identical to Gabe's at seeing Bob.

"It wasn't really your choice," William tells him blandly.

Gabe swears in Spanish and shakes Peter Pan off. "You're lucky you're not ghosted," Gabe says.

William shrugs. "Yeah. Same could be said for you a hundred times over."

"We grew up out here!" Gabe says, frustration leaking into his voice. "We're used to it. This is who we are because we don't have any other choice."

William tilts his head, searching Gabe's face for an answer. "Do you really think I ever had any other choice, either?"

"Bill," Gabe says. He's holding back from touching, William can tell, so he takes a step closer. Gabe won't have so far to reach. "You were--they were gonna kill you and there wasn't anything I could do about it."

"I'm here now," William says, because he can't really argue with what Gabe has said, can't do anything to fix it or make it better or less scary.

Gabe does touch him them, wrapping his fingers tight around William's wrist. "You can't ever go back," he says. It's a statement of fact, but it sounds more like a threat or a plea.

"Wasn't planning on trying," William murmurs.

*

_The Professor says: We're part of something ours and ours alone. Anywhere is home._


End file.
